


Oh Comely

by KilltheRhythm



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Title comes from a neutral milk hotel song, mesut being a small dork, nonlinear storytelling, surprise surprise I still can't write forwards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheRhythm/pseuds/KilltheRhythm
Summary: Mesut makes a friend, and then something more. Or, Flames, a progression.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wowee I still can't write forwards. There's an actual plot here, I swear.

Mesut flops onto his bed, photo in one hand and phone in the other. Yeah, Mathieu had told him that they weren't going to offer him a contract extension, but Mesut had blown it off, it was a month and a half ago, there was time for it to be proven false. He holds the phone up to see the screen again, read dreaded words. Mathieu Flamini released from Arsenal.

Gritting his teeth, he chucks the phone away. It slams into the wall and the sound of the glass cracking is oh so painfully audible. He can feel the beginnings of tears brimming in his eyes, because he didn't wanna remember that this was happening.

He glances at the photo next, partially because it's legitimately pretty, Mathieu's arm swung over his shoulder and both beaming at the camera in the soft lighting, a forested hiking trail in the background. For second it wasn't him and Mathieu, it was just a vignette, two men in the middle of their lives. Then he remembers that no, it's him and Mathieu, and he's being ridiculously sentimental. He shuts his eyes tight, and tries to take a deep breath.

You're working yourself up, his brain tells him, don't you think you're being a little hysterical? Shaking his head, he gets up and slips on his shoes. Action. He needs to do something, so so so badly. So he ends up leaving the apartment and wandering down the street.

Wandering may have been a bit of an understatement, as he finds that he's "wandered" all of the thirty minute walk to Mathieu's. He's already standing on the other man's doormat before he really realizes what he's doing. Slams his head against the door. Fuck. Seconds later, forehead still resting against the cool wood, he can hear the doorknob turning, feel it opening.

"Hello?" Mathieu is saying before he can even really see Mesut. Upon fully opening the door, he looks a little surprised to see his friend. Usually Mesut would text him before, but now the younger man stood before him, phoneless (and still with the memory of it laying on the floor of his bedroom, surely shattered) and wide eyed.

Mesut takes deep breaths, still frozen in place and staring at Mathieu. He can tell that his mouth is open, but he can't seem to get it to shut. Eventually, he finds the words, rushing forwards. "Please don't leave."

He finds himself pressed up against Mathieu's chest, eyes closed and arms tight around him. Even though it's not cold outside, Mathieu is comforting and warm and there. He can hear the older man say softly "What do you mean Mesut? I'm not leaving London."

"Really?"

Mathieu nods, swinging Mesut into the house and shutting the door. Mesut, now inside, realizes how loud the insects were out there, and how much nicer it is to be free from the oppressive humidity. "I like it here. Of course I don't want to leave."

Mesut nods, looking down at his feet. It's a little embarrassing, to turn up unannounced at your best friend's house and then beg them to stay when they had already planned to. He can already see his teammates mocking him for it, then realizes that no one will tell them because _Mathieu is gone_.

When he wakes up the next morning, still at Mathieu's because the Frenchman was not just going to let him walk another thirty minutes home at this hour, the thought of the other man leaving is mostly gone. They make breakfast together and talk, and Mesut tries so hard to keep the thought of Mathieu not being on the same team with him away, but it's still there, niggling away in the back of his mind. He sighs, wondering when he'd feel like he was back to normal again.

\----

Mesut hadn't been ecstatic about going to Arsenal when he first arrived. Introverted and only a basic command of the English language weren't the best pair of attributes for making friends at a new club, but Mesut decides this time he's going to adopt an I-don't-care-if-I-make-friends attitude. Guaranteed starting is worth it.

In fact, he's almost looking forward to being a loner, keeping out of the drama in team friendships. Yeah, he'll be cool, and it's starting to actually make him feel excited about all of this, going to a new club.

So of course within the first few hours of the first day there he makes a friend. His plans deflate insanely fast, but Mathieu is kind and friendly and doesn't mind when Mesut uses the wrong tense of "to be". He shows Mesut around, introduces him to people, asks him how he's doing. There's something endearing about him, and Mesut is instantly drawn to being around the man.

From that day on they're inseparable, and Mesut finds himself grinning at the thought of seeing his new best bro at training everyday. It's insanely obvious how happy they were, but who the fuck cared if your teammates mocked you for your "massive bromance" when you were with your favorite person in the entire country?

The boss decides to not put them in the same room in the hotel for the first away game, which Mesut thinks is plenty ridiculous, but keeps his words to himself. Instead he's paired with Per, who is far from the worst person to be with.

"So how are you liking things here?" Per asks in German, and for once Mesut feels less on edge with his non-Mathieu teammates, comfortable in his first language. He pauses and then smiles. "Are you liking Mathieu?"

Mesut, who had been looking at his phone until that point, sets it down heavily. "What do you mean by that?"

"You're practically a married couple." Per says, still keeping the same jovial expression. It's making the pulse behind Mesut's left eye thump harder, more angrily. "You found the love of your life?"

Mesut turns away from Per, rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

\-----

Mesut is eighteen when he finally plays for Schalke's first team. He's already got a few friends on the squad from the youth team from last year, and everything is new and exciting. He's got a shit haircut that he's heavily in denial about and he's young and dumb, and the world is his oyster.

One of the older players on the team asks him if he's gay during training (Mesut blames it on his very trendy haircut, _thank you very much_ ) and he freezes up. His parents have talked to him about this before. They're Muslim, he's born to good Turks, and being gay is not an option. He remembers his father's words well, "We are not a family of sinners", and tries his best to respond calmly.

He gets it again five years later, when Mario Götze of all people stares at him in the locker room and asks out of the blue. Mesut stares back at the chubbier player and raises a brow, asks him why the hell he'd even thought that.

"You just seemed like one, I dunno." Mario says, and Mesut wonders if he means it as an insult. Maybe it was one, maybe not.

After Mario leaves, Mesut stares at himself in the mirror. Did he seem gay? Was it something he said or did? He decides to ask Sami later, but swiftly forgets to. That night, he wonders again, and then remembered what his parents thought about how gay marriage was getting legalized in many places. _We are not a family of sinners_.

The thought does not enter his mind at all for a very long time. He bounced from girlfriend to girlfriend, and though sometimes he ignored them or wasn't completely faithful, things were alright. In London, he meets the most beautiful girl, and is near instantly awestruck.

Mandy is all different kinds of lovely, and her smiles were the best he'd ever seen. Mathieu encourages him to talk to her, like the best mate he'd always been, and it does wonders for Mesut's confidence. The relationship is mostly good, and this time Mesut was determined to make it last.

Mandy had been texting him a lot these past few days, with him away in France for the Euros. Messages like _I miss you Mesut_ and _I love you so much, can't wait to see you when you get back_ pop up every once in a while, like they always did when he left for long periods of time. Unlike before, he responds halfheartedly, the familiar excitement he usually felt in his heart when he interacted with her suddenly missing.

He promises to visit her first thing when he goes back to London, but that proves to be a lie. He goes to get dinner with Mathieu, because it'd been too long, far too long since he'd seen him (it'd been a handful of weeks, but that was too long for him).

Paparazzi snap photos like how they always do, and Mesut ignores it. He's good at it, ignoring things, like how he'd been ignoring his girlfriend, and ignoring her texts that were suddenly coming in at a record pace. He's sure that the photos of him at the restaurant post-euros were already on the Internet by the time he left, but it didn't matter.

He arrives back home with the soft click of the door, breathing in the familiar smell of his apartment. The lights flick on harshly, and he winces, squinting his eyes to see no one other than Mandy standing in the center of the room. She looks positively furious.

"Mesut," she growls, stepping forward. "I know you've been ignoring me."

 _Yeah, I have, that's why I haven't been responding to your texts_ , he thinks. "What do you mean?" is all he actually says.

She thrusts her phone into his face. It takes a second for his eyes to focus on the title of the page. **MESUT ÖZIL SPOTTED IN LONDON RESTAURANT RIGHT AFTER GERMANY BOTCHES THEIR CHANCES IN THE EUROS**. "You're cheating on me, aren't you?" Her voice is shrill, and she's in near hysterics.

"I'm not cheating on you! I just got dinner with a friend." Mesut says, placing a hand on her shoulder. She throws it off, tears beginning to blossom in her eyes.

"A friend?! Who?" She growls, her cheeks shimmering with drops that look like shards of glass.

"It was just Mathieu."

Her eyes widen to gigantic proportions, and her fists ball up. "JUST MATHIEU?! I KNEW IT! YOU'RE CHEATING ON ME WITH HIM!"

Mesut stares at her incredulously. Maybe he'd been ignoring her recently, and now he remembered why he did. "I swear I'm not! I'm faithful, I promise."

She backs up towards the door, defiant and furious. "Yeah fuckin' right. You like him more than you do me! Why don't you just date him instead?"

"I swear I don'--"

Mandy cuts him off again, rage prominent on her features. "Fuck off! You're probably blowing him before training, fucking cheating on me with him every chance you get! I'm done." With a great deal of fury, she finishes her screaming rant, pushes past Mesut and slams the door.

A few moments after she leaves, the German sat down on the couch, putting his head in his hands. He was sure his entire apartment complex had heard his girlfriend rant about how he was blowing his teammate. He winces. Ex girlfriend. Surprisingly, he feels not as bad about being without her than he thought.

He looks out his window, and prays that things'll be better later. Maybe she'd come back. Maybe.

\----

Alexis smiles brightly at him from across their hotel room. Another away game had passed, this time against Ludogorets. Despite the fact that they had won, there's a feeling of wrongness settling in the pit of his stomach. Usually he roomed with Mathieu, but that wasn't an option anymore. Frowning, he flicked open his phone (very new, because it had taken him a surprisingly long amount of time to replace the one he had thrown), going through a few congratulatory messages from friends. None from Mathieu.

He sets his phone down with a sigh, flopping onto his bed. He closes his eyes, and heavily considers taking a deserved nap, but then the feeling of his bed shifting and snaps his eyes open. Alexis's face, still jovial, but now more subdued, looks down at him.

"Hm?" He says, wondering why Alexis was so close all of a sudden.

Alexis shifts away a bit, looking thoughtful, and then starts to speak. "Are you alright? You look a little sad. Mi amigo, don't be. We won!"

Mesut shifts up, sitting now, and smiles for a second. "It's not about the game, Alexis. I'm fine."

Alexis gives him a look that clearly conveys the words "are you shitting me" through any language. Mesut fights the desire to laugh, because Alexis looks like a cartoon, and put off was certainly a new expression for the Chilean.

"Yeah right." Alexis says, rolling his eyes. He pauses, seeming to examine Mesut's face, then brightens dramatically. The lightbulb above his head lighting up is painfully obvious. "I know what it is."

Mesut raises a brow. "What is it?"

Alexis slides an arm around Mesut's shoulder, trying his hardest to be fatherly. "You miss him," he pauses, and Mesut freezes. _Fuck_. "you miss Mathieu. I know what it's like, mi amigo. I miss mine too."

Mesut tries his hardest to not be obvious, because he doesn't want to give Alexis the satisfaction of knowing that he hit the nail on the head. Instead, he focuses on the chilean's final sentence. "You miss yours?"

Alexis nods firmly, eyes closed. Mesut wonders if the shorter man was actually a comic book character. "Edu lives further away from me than Mathieu does for you. I know what it's like. Be happy that you have him so close. I know he cares about you."

When Mesut finally lays in bed, now unable to shut his eyes, the soft moonlight from the window shifting over the linens in the bed (seriously, this hotel was nice as all hell) Alexis's words ring through his head. They're comforting, that he and Mathieu's friendship was not one sided. Mathieu cared too.

"Thank you," Mesut eventually says to Alexis, even though the other man was almost certainly asleep. "you made me remember that he is still my friend."

Alexis is not asleep. He jolts up from his bed, staring at Mesut, more than a little surprised. "Friend?"

Mesut turns to look at him. "He's my friend."

Alexis lies back down, but keeps the same surprised, incredulous expression. "I meant... not friend. Your, uh, you know?"

"My you know?"

Alexis nods frantically, saying something in Spanish rapidly under his breath. Despite three years at Madrid, the German could not figure out for the life of him what the other man said. "Uh, we all thought that you were." Hand motions were frantically made. "Like how I like mine."

It's painfully vague, and Mesut grits his teeth. "Like how you like Edu? Me and him, we are like you?"

The blush is bright on Alexis's face when Mesut mentions the other man's name (a quick Google search the next day tells him that Edu is a Chilean at Hoffenheim). He slips his hands over his features, trying to hide how red his face was. "Yeah. Good night."

\----

The thought plagues him the entire trip back to London. Him and Mathieu? Everyone thought that they were a thing? He had never considered it, but now it won't leave his head. It shuts him up for the entire plane trip, to the point where he doesn't even comment at Alexis suspiciously eyeing him every few minutes.

As they get off the plane, Mesut feels suffocated. He ends up taking an extra long walk around London that night, trying to get all of his thoughts out of his mind, and the walk quickly transforms into a run.

He bounds up the steps to his apartment, sweaty and exhausted because lord knows how long he'd been running and the trainer would almost certainly kill him for it. His mind is a little clearer as he turns on the shower, a spray of warm water hitting him in the back.

Then he thinks of Mathieu again, Mathieu and him together, and his eyes are wide as wide can be. He tries to remember his father's words, _We are not a family of sinners_ , but they do nothing to get the damn thought of Mathieu and him out of his head. Even though he's alone, he feels embarrassed, his face turning red.

He ends up taking a cold shower that night, and going to bed with more than a little shame in his heart.

\----

He still sees Mathieu as frequently as possible, which is harder now that they don't play for the same team. Quickly he has the Crystal Palace schedule memorized, and tries to push aside any awkwardness when he sees him. Still in the back of his mind there's some paranoia that just maybe Mathieu is secretly a mind reader and can tell what he's thinking.

Then again, if he was, he probably would be a lot more judgmental towards him. No, he probably, almost certainly wouldn't talk to him if he could see what Mesut had thought about him. Mesut shakes his head in his car of the Crystal Palace training grounds parking lot, because he certainly does not need to rehash the idea of him and Mathieu making out, even though it's gone through his mind more than a few times. No no no. He wills his thoughts pure.

Mathieu is delighted to see him, hopping into the car and wrapping his arms around Mesut. He can smell the frenchman's shower gel, and then decides to dispel those thoughts too, because that was a little creepy.

They chatter as he drives them to a restaurant, Mathieu cheerful as always. With the other man actually with him, Mesut feels less awkward and a lot more cheerful. He likes the effect Mathieu has on him. Eventually they end up at an out of the way Chinese food place, far from the eye of the paparazzi or anyone else who had anything to do with football.

As Mathieu orders, Mesut slips a thumb over the other man's hand, and smiles the tiniest bit when he didn't pull away. They sit down in the back corner of the restaurant, occasionally glancing at what's on the TV (it's the woman's lacrosse World Cup, which Mesut didn't even know was a thing), but mostly talking. Their seats are close together and it's painfully intimate despite the harsh neon lights and the grumpy Cantonese woman at the counter.

Mesut decides to test the waters. He mentions that he thinks Alexis's crush on "this guy", and a tiny bit of guilt springs up in his heart. He felt a little bad for throwing his friend under the bus, but then remembers that Alexis the one who started all of this mess. If he's going down, Alexis is too.

"Hopefully he'll be happy with him, he seems lonely." Mathieu smiles, eyes crinkling, and Mesut can feel his heart jump off a skyscraper. Mathieu wouldn't hate him if he was gay.

 _Since when have I called myself that?_ , Mesut asks himself, and then pushes his thoughts aside because the food was here, and his stomach was rumbling. He could deal with his emotions later.

They drum back up again a week later when he's over at Mathieu's, watching The Dark Knight Rises (they had watched some more of the women's lacrosse World Cup before this, which was surprisingly entertaining). Marco had suggested it to him the last time he had seen him, but Mesut was painfully bored, and boredom leads to him contemplating everything. Mostly that he and Mathieu were sitting so close together on his couch, and that it was painfully domestic.

Mathieu slips a hand over Mesut's about halfway through the film, and Mesut intertwines their fingers before he can even register what is happening. The Frenchman looks at him, smile on his face, and Mesut instinctively moves closer, sliding his other hand over Mathieu's cheek. Again, he worries that he is acting before he can think this through.

He can feel stubble under his palm and it reminds him that this was actually real, actually happening. Mathieu still looks so content, eyes soft and warm and then he's so much closer. Mesut closes his eyes and leans in, and holy shit this was actually happening. He forgets that they were even watching a film, because never in a million years did he think he was going to be doing this. It's every single cliche Mesut has ever experienced, but fuck it, he's getting to kiss fucking Flamini of all people.

Mathieu pulls away softly, eyes no longer meeting Mesut's. "Sorry," he says breathily, looking anywhere but at Mesut.

Mesut feels like all of his internal organs are going to shoot out of his chest. "Why are you sorry?"

"I-- you probably didn't want that and I forced it and it was wrong," Mathieu says, still looking like a kicked puppy.

Mesut is practically leaping on top of him. "Hell no, you have no idea," he pauses, and realizes that he is literally lying atop Mathieu. "for how fucking long I've thought about you like this."

\----

Mathieu is whipping up crepes in Mesut's kitchen, lit by the mid spring sun, the other man happily seated on a countertop watching him cook, when his phone rings. Mesut stares at the screen, and accepts the call.

Mesut's mother's voice is comforting and familiar, and he can't stop the smile from spreading across his face. He carries on the conversation, still watching Mathieu cook. The elder man switches between concentrating on the food and giving Mesut approving nods.

"Mesut, sweetheart, are you dating anyone? I have this lovely lady who you might be interested in." Mesut's mother says across the line, and for some reason it doesn't phase him.

"Yeah, I am." He says before realizing what he had just done. Mathieu doesn't understand a word of what he's saying, still contentedly cooking.

"Bring her over next time you visit! I can't wait to see her Mesut."

Mesut stares at his calendar. He's supposed to see his mother a month from today. "Of course."

He hangs up, and wonders if she noticed how frightened he sounded when he responded. Mathieu looks up at him, concern shining on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"I just told my mom that I was bringing my girlfriend over next month." Mesut says, looking at Mathieu worriedly.

Mathieu pauses, thinking hard as he turns off the stove. He looks back up at Mesut. "What're you going to do?"

Mesut shakes his head. "I don't know. I'm not going to get some fake girlfriend."

Mathieu places an arm on Mesut's back, soft and reassuring. "I'll go with you if you want."

Mesut nods. He wasn't going to lie. "Thank you." Then once again, he remembers his father's words. _We are not a family of sinners_.

He comes to the conclusion an hour later, worriedly staring up at the ceiling as he lies on the couch, with Mathieu's arm around him, that he'll bring him. He turns to face Mathieu, murmuring his plan. Mathieu presses them together again, and Mesut closes his eyes, trying to forget the entire mess.

\----

Mesut does a multitude of things to try taking his mind off of the upcoming visit to his parents' place. The date of doom, as he thought of it, seemed to be swiftly approaching. So far, the thing that distracts him the most, is fucking with Alexis.

The Chilean knows exactly who to yell at when a certain Hoffenheim jersey appears in his mail. He runs up to Mesut, angrily jumping up and down and waving his arms, because "fuck you you weren't supposed to tell anyone", and maybe it wasn't just a jersey (Mesut had gotten Alex and Jenks to put up posters in Alexis's locker while he wasn't looking).

The entire defensive line (and Alex, arm still around Jenko) was howling with laughter by the end of Alexis's rant. Arsene eventually comes in, telling them that "bullying was wrong" and "uhhhh, help him clean up his locker after training".

Mesut pays Jenko and Alex £20 each to clean it up (he avoids doing it mostly because it cuts into Mathieu time) and the two younger boys give Alexis hell as they rip out all the posters of a certain Mr Vargas.

They decide to shove them all into Hector's locker, since he had left early, and argue what to spend their combined £40 on. Meanwhile, Mesut drives over to Mathieu's, like how he did every Thursday, ready to recount his tale. He unlocks the door with his set of keys, yelling his arrival. Mathieu yells back from his kitchen, and Mesut's heart soars.

He walks through the small house, eyes scanning over everything that was so painfully familiar. He spots a new book, a Turkish to French dictionary, and his smile grows a little larger.

He recounts this new prank to Mathieu over tea (jasmine for the Frenchman and earl grey for him), and Mathieu laughs the entire time. "I have an idea."

Mesut leans forward, resting his head in his hands. "Tell me."

"I know we're going over to Germany soon," Mathieu says, nodding slowly. "so I say that we get a ticket for Alexis too."

"We're taking him to my parent's place?"

Mathieu laughs again. "No! We get him a ticket for a Hoffenheim game, and be the best matchmakers for our small friend."

Mesut agrees that the idea is fantastic, and they immediately go to looking for tickets. Mesut pulls some strings, and suddenly Alexis is set to sit in one of the best seats.

It's harder to convince Alexis to go, but eventually he comes up with a plan that involves Santi, Olivier, and a strongly worded phone call from both Vidal and Chile's head coach. Alexis agrees to go to Germany as a break for his health (after all, this occurred in one of the rare spans of time that there weren't games).

They only bother telling him that he's got a ticket to a game after they land in Germany, and then promptly leave him, surprised and confused. They have bigger fish to fry, and Mesut's hands tremble as he drives towards his parents' house. Mathieu tries to comfort him in the driveway, puts a hand on his shoulder and murmurs comforting words.

Slowly, they walk up to the front door, Mesut's heart jack hammering in his chest and Mathieu looking almost as worried. Mesut's mother happily swings open the door, near instantly enveloping him in a hug.

"Mesut, I missed you so much!" She pulls away, still staring at her son. Mathieu continues to go unnoticed, quietly watching them interact. She pokes Mesut in the stomach, a teasing tone in her voice. "You're getting enough to eat, good."

Mesut smiles the tiniest of smiles at her, still fantastically nervous. He waits for it, and then watches as her attention shifts to Mathieu. She scans him with her eyes and then turns to Mesut. He pulls Mathieu closer, hoping that the Frenchman will impart some inner strength upon him. "This is Mathieu."

Mathieu smiles awkwardly, not understanding a word of the conversation. Mesut's mother looks particularly confused, but brings both of them inside the house, shutting the door. She looks a little more impressed when he answers her offer for coffee in Turkish.

Mesut's father enters, sitting down at the table and announcing that Mesut's sister would arrive tomorrow. They carry on small talk with their son, Mathieu awkwardly nodding along despite not understanding anything.

"So Mesut, where is your girlfriend? Is she coming soon?" Mesut's mother asks, and Mesut can feel the pangs of nervousness start up again.

"Uh yeah, about that mom, um..." He trails off, staring down at his coffee. He was going to do this quick, and hopefully with the smallest amount of pain.

"What?" His mother and father ask in unison.

"There is no girlfriend. I mean, I'm dating someone, but she's not, uh... she's not a she." Mesut can feel his hands shaking, so he grab Mathieu's hand tightly under the table.

"Mesut?" His father asks, concerned. Mesut is waiting for the rage.

"I'm dating Mathieu." He blurts out, bracing himself for the anger that is bound to happen.

His father yells some choice words, clearly horrified. His mother looks at Mesut sadly, tears shimmering in her eyes, and then looks over to Mathieu. Mesut's father leaves the room, grumbling about needing to calm down, and he decides that things could have gone far worse.

Indeed, his family is calmer the next morning, despite the fact that they made Mesut and Mathieu room separately. Mesut wakes up to see Mathieu trying to communicate with his mother via Google translate and smiles. She looks up at him, significantly more cheerful than the day before.

"I like him! He's already helped me fix the computer and helped me cook." She says, and Mesut feels more relieved. Her emotions seemed to have done a complete one eighty. His father is still grumbling, but it's less concentrated fury and more dull anger.

He pulls Mesut aside before breakfast and tells him that he still expects him to marry a woman. Mesut winces and tries to explain that that may not happen, but his father insists. No words will convict him otherwise.

Mesut is more than happy to get out of the house that afternoon, though. As they drive towards Hoffenheim's stadium, they talk about the events of the past day, and Mesut feels a little less uneasy.

It's strange to be the ones watching instead of playing, but more fun than Mesut would have thought. From where they are they can see Alexis in the stands, but unlike how he is usually, the Chilean does not look especially bright.

"You think he's nervous?" Mathieu asks and Mesut nods. A Hoffenheim flag hits them in the head, but they laugh and try to peer through the blue and white.

The game is plenty exciting, a close match, and they find themselves cheering on with the rest of the crowd. No one seems to notice that they're famous athletes, and it feels liberating to be just like everyone else. Mesut loses his shit with the rest of his crowd when Hoffenheim breaks the tie with a last minute header from Eduardo Vargas, then loses his shit again as the Chilean ran towards where Alexis was sitting in the stands. Mathieu looks at him, eyebrows raised and Mesut gives him his best "I told you so" expression.

Post match they sit in Mesut's car, bickering over where to go for dinner, and then spot Alexis a long ways away, by the Hoffenheim bus. He's standing with someone in a Hoffenheim jersey who is equally as short, with a haircut that made him look like a cockatoo and sleeves of tattoos. They lean in, and Mesut and Mathieu whoop and holler from their car, watching it all go down. Mesut eventually honks the horn of his car and they break apart, Alexis horrified and yelling near instantly.

\----

Mesut still cackles about it months later, looking at a particularly ridiculous post on Alexis's story in bed. Mathieu watches over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around Mesut, tangled up together. The German looks over to him and then back to his phone, smiling. He contemplates sending Alexis a PDA-filled selfie, but Mathieu is more camera shy than he was.

Then he remembers the game tonight. Crystal Palace vs Arsenal. He tries to push it out of his thoughts, and he knows that Mathieu is doing it too. They nod at each other, knowing that there's no way out.

Mesut feels even worse when the game kicks off. Both of them were starting, and he has a bad feeling that the announcers were going to mention it. The game is even shittier than his emotions though, with Arsenal being down a goal almost the entire match.

He grits his teeth when they announce four minutes extra time on the second half. Arsene was going to give them hell for this trainwreck of a game. As much as he cared about Mathieu, he still wanted to win this, and continues driving forward with the ball. He crosses, and to his amazement, Jenko sprints down the field to head it in.

The stands start screaming as soon as the ref blows the whistle, and he runs to high five the right back. Alex blasts past him, tackling Jenko and screaming. Mesut feels the adrenaline rush stop when he sees Mathieu on the field. They exchange a small nod, and then wait for the thirty seconds left on the clock to wind down.

Neither of them are happy with the results, but they hug in the center of the field, even with all the cameras trained on them.

An hour after the match they're finally reunited, clasping hands in a Spanish restaurant. On the walk back to Mathieu's house, accompanied by the hum of insects and rustling wind, he suggested that Mesut move in. Mesut nods, wrapping arms around Mathieu and drawing him in close, melding together. Things were going to be good.

**Author's Note:**

> Oo boy there is not much flames on here. It's a shame, they're so happy together. Hopefully y'all didn't think this was a hot pile of shit. Obligitory mention to some of the chile NT bc they're my faves.


End file.
